Giving up the Illusion

Sometimes I catch myself already daydreaming about turning the wheel in to the oncoming lights – giving up the illusion to dream soft verse after the chorus of metal and discord of glass. No more screaming kids, or overdue rent, or being on hold. No more leaking pipes, or stolen cigarettes, or bad poetry. Just …

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Dying Dream

This is how it went on a harsh winter morning – wreathes of breath rising over a carpet of frost, insulated pockets of heat, hooded, eyes downcast, all rushing to get inside. An old man stood unmoving – cigarette breath, coffee teeth. Ashen, untamed beard beneath a cracked-concrete face. Lovers walked past, all reaches and …

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